


Meatballs

by newsiees



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, MY SONS, homophobia mention, real quick read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6062431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsiees/pseuds/newsiees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Race promises meatballs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meatballs

Race took a deep breath as he folded one of Spot’s t shirts and put in the proper drawer, using uncharacteristic precision.

“So I was thinking…”

Spot was cross-legged on the floor, rolling socks in pairs to be put back where they belong. He looked up at Race and gave him a playful grin.

“Oh, no, that can’t be good.” 

“Oh, shut up, you,” Race said, relaxing in the comforting air. Today was laundry day, which happened quite infrequently due to their college lifestyle. Race was glad for the tactile distraction.

“Anyways, I was thinking...I’m going to home this weekend, because of the extra days off, for sunday dinner…”

“You’re going home?” Spot raised an eyebrow, almost impressed. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s been a while. And I was thinking, maybe, you might-”

“No, no way,” Spot cut him off quickly, standing with his arms full of socks. 

“Aw, c’mon, Spot. There’ll be good food and they gotta meet you.”

“They do NOT want to meet me,” Spot muttered, shoving socks into a drawer. 

Race made his way closer to Spot, holding a pair of sweatpants whose original owner had been long forgotten. 

“My mom will love you because I do.” 

“And I would love to die by way of meatball. It’s not your mom I’m worried about.” Spot was tense in his words, gripping the side of the dresser until his knuckles disappeared. 

“He won’t do anything to you.” Race’s voice was soft and his warm, tan hands found home on top of Spot’s ghostly, skeletal fingers.

“No, your pop’ll just _love_ the kid who 'turned his perfect son gay.’ It’ll be almost romantic.” 

“Spot, I haven’t been home since we started dating. Over two years. This is hard for me, too.”

Spot’s shoulders dropped and he flipped one of his hands to hold onto Race’s. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He didn’t make eye contact, but Race could tell he meant it. 

“Will you think about it?” At that, Spot lifted his gaze to meet Race’s eyes.

“Would you feel better if I was there?” 

“Yes.” 

A kiss and a promise followed. They were in it for the long run. And for the meatballs.


End file.
